


Hidden Touches and Charcoal Suits

by AroRomantic



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic, Crossdressing, F/M, Goemon is bad at physical affection, Jealousy, M/M, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, aromantic Fujiko, but he tries his best, but it still feels romantic because Lupin, technically Fujiko and Lupin's relationship is a qpr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AroRomantic/pseuds/AroRomantic
Summary: Jigen had one hand in Lupin’s and one wrapped around his waist, solid yet gentle where it brushed his dress. Without the easily recognizable hat he’d been forced to stuff into a pocket for the occasion, his eyes were clearly visible and shockingly honest in their adoring expression. Lupin, for his part, was pressed as close to Jigen as he was able, long brunette hair twisted luxuriously over a shoulder, grinning at the gunman like the sun. They looked every bit a couple in love.Fujiko forgot how to breathe.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Mine Fujiko, Ishikawa Goemon XIII & Mine Fujiko, Jigen Daisuke/Arsène Lupin III
Comments: 21
Kudos: 87





	Hidden Touches and Charcoal Suits

Fujiko put on her final touch for the evening—a pair of fine pearl earrings she’d been gifted by a rich widower in England a month earlier, along with a large diamond ring, several gold necklaces, and most of his sizable fortune, though the last part was, admittedly, not so much a ‘gift’ per se—and stepped back to admire her image in the mirror. She’d dyed her hair a bright orange for the occasion and it played off the green of her dress to an absolutely stunning effect, not that she ever didn’t look stunning. If Fujiko was confident in anything, it was her looks. Flipping her hair over a shoulder and letting out a satisfied hum, she slipped out of her heels for the time being—she’d likely be running later tonight and any rest for her ankles beforehand certainly wouldn’t hurt—took one last glance in the mirror, and strutted through the large double doors behind her.

What she found in the makeshift living room of Lupin’s current hideout was a sloppy, if quiet, scene of domesticity. Goemon and Jigen were the only two visible, though she could hear Lupin muttering rapidly to himself in French from the kitchen. The samurai and gunman had eyes glued to an old samurai film playing on the hideout’s retro television, volume almost muted. Both men were already changed, though Goemon, cross-legged on the rug by the couch, may as well have been a tiger stuffed into a tutu for how comfortable he seemed in his suit. He pulled at the collar of his tie and shifted every thirty seconds, unused to the tight-fitting pants, clutching Zantetsuken even closer than usual.

Jigen, on the other hand, seemed a bit too comfortable in his own suit, sprawled on the couch with his hands behind his head, his hat pulled low over his face, and a cigarette held lazily between his lips. From the chair she’d claimed upon entering the room, Fujiko pursed her lips, overcome by the sudden and slightly surprising impulse to complain about him wrinkling his clothes. Pride telling her it wasn’t her responsibility what Jigen did with his clothes and knowing it wouldn’t do any good in the first place, she refrained herself. He’d just scoff anyway. That or go back to ignoring her as he had for the past several weeks, a response she supposed was marginally better than his usual one. She had no desire to be called a life-sucking bitch tonight, thank you, though at least then she’d know where she stood with him.

They’d been on shaky ground since she’d walked in on him and Lupin tangled together on the sofa about a month earlier in Italy. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known Jigen was gay—any beautiful woman would be able to tell within half an hour of his company and with half of her observational skills—and she’d seen Lupin flirt happily with the occasional man who drew his fancy. It just somehow hadn’t occurred to her that they might be “flirting,” so to speak, with each other.

What followed the discovery was a long, awkward conversation where Lupin apologized profusely for keeping it from her—Jigen-chan wanted to keep it quiet, you understand? And I still love you very much and nothing has to change—and then made Jigen grunt what Fujiko presumed was an apology from the corner where he was making a valiant attempt to vanish into his hat. Fujiko had just smiled and teased. Brushed it off. She was mature enough to accept this, even if Jigen wasn’t. And just as Lupin promised, nothing changed, at least surface-wise, between the three of them, not counting Jigen’s sudden lack of communication.

In fact, it was almost startling how much stayed the same. Fujiko and Lupin’s relationship had always included a silent clause that both were allowed to pursue whoever else they chose, and the two men didn’t suddenly start making out on sofas while she was already in the room. Lupin’s over-the-top affections and declarations of adoration toward her didn’t cease either. The only thing that had changed was Fujiko’s sudden and complete awareness. And she couldn’t. Get it. To go. Away.

It was the little things: brushed hands under the table, touches that lasted a bit too long. How Jigen would push a pen into Lupin’s view before the thief even finished asking for one or how Lupin curled up on the couch a bit closer to Jigen than necessary while the gunman grumbled half-hearted complaints. Small intimacies she’d brushed off as friendship before or the effects of working closely together for years, but now seemed suddenly, obviously, painfully clear for what they were. She felt blind for missing them. Nothing had changed, but somehow it all felt different. And it wasn’t helping that Jigen had refused to say more than three words to her since the event.

She’d bought him the expensive charcoal suit he was wearing tonight as something akin to a peace offering. To her surprise, he hadn’t accused her of bugging the garment as she expected. He’d simply given her a long, hard look, grunted a ‘yeah, sure’ at her suggestion he wear it for the heist, and slunk off with it draped over his shoulder. She was more than a little relieved to see him wearing it now. Maybe he was trying to balance their changing relationship in his own way. God knows Lupin hadn’t been much help.

The thief hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the incident since that first conversation, though his usual advances toward her had seemed a bit stiffer lately. And maybe, she theorized, he’d said something to Jigen in private. If Lupin of all people had asked him to play nice, it would certainly explain why the gunman wasn’t outright hostile. Even if he still wasn’t exactly friendly.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lupin streaked into the living room at last, red dress flowing out behind him and shoulder-length brunette wig securely in place. Despite her unease, Fujiko held back a small smile at that. Lupin tended to go for shorter hairstyles when dressed as a woman, but Fujiko had always thought longer locks would suit him. She was happy to find herself proven right. She’d have to tell him later when they were alone. Maybe see if she could expand her share of the treasure while she was at it. She didn’t miss his appreciative comment for Jigen’s new suit either, though she couldn’t help but wonder briefly if Jigen told him it was a gift from her and, if he had, for whose sake Lupin might be complimenting it.

Upon seeing her, Lupin let out a sloppy grin and a low wolf-whistle, though the effect was somewhat strange to see from such a feminine figure. Fujiko smiled. “Now, now,” she chastised gently, “there will be plenty of time for that later.” Despite her words, she moved to reveal just a bit more of her leg under the skirt, pleased at the result it had on the thief, though the feeling was slightly ruined by Jigen slumping further down onto the couch. He always had been obvious when he pouted, no matter how good a poker face he thought he had.

Despite Lupin’s well-earned reputation of mixing work with pleasure, Fujiko had to give him credit. After initial greetings, he jumped straight into business. And for Lupin, business was treated the same as a nice woman: always appreciated and enjoyed during the moment, but still given the respect and care she deserved and absolutely never taken lightly.

The place they were robbing was the home of a rather refined billionaire in Paris, well-known and loved among the populous for being the generous founder of multiple charities. What said populous didn’t know was of his habit of funneling a sizable amount of their donations into his own personal savings, leaving just large enough of a dent to let him maintain his status as one of the richest men in the world and just small enough to not be readily noticed unless someone was looking. Unfortunately for him, someone was. He was the classic corrupt billionaire: smart, extravagant, overconfident in his own invincibility, and, to Lupin the Third, too good of a victim to pass up. The extravagant house party he was throwing tonight, despite the advance warning Lupin had sent him a few days prior, offered the perfect opportunity.

The group headed inside as separate couples, Lupin and Jigen as an American couple, new in both money and high-class society, Goemon and Fujiko as a sophisticated and wealthy Japanese Businessman and his wife. After enough time had passed, Goemon would fall suddenly “ill” and Fujiko would help him to the bathroom where the samurai could easily make his way through the vents and into the areas of the building its owner didn’t want to be seen, waiting to let Lupin through on the thief’s signal. For now, however, the four simply mingled with the crowd, drawing away any suspicion that may fall on them. Though Lupin seemed to be having far more fun than he should be gaining the crowd’s attention instead. Jigen practically had to drag him away before he revealed himself to a certain police investigator who had shown up to guard the event right on cue, the thief delightedly pretending to flirt in a way that would leave the poor old man blushing for most of the night.

Fujiko, meanwhile, had spent the entire evening by Goemon’s side, translating for the samurai who barely spoke a word of French—something he’d apologized profusely for, but which was waved off by the other three. There was a reason he was going as a "Japanese" businessman after all. And, for Fujiko, being able to play the beautiful and dutiful wife was fun every once in a while, even if she wasn’t the type of girl to go for it full time. The adorable blush on Goemon’s face whenever he was forced to ask for her help after stumbling through whatever French niceties he could remember was a lovely bonus as well.

As the time when she and Goemon would have to make their exit approached, Fujiko found herself already a good number of drinks in with her feet already cramping in her heels the way she recognized from experience meant they’d be sore in the morning. She was trying to steer the mumbling and quickly coloring samurai politely away from a French couple who had taken it upon themselves to try and teach the “poor foreigner” their wonderful language when a flash of red caught her eye from the dance floor and froze her to the spot. In the center of the floor, swaying gently to the violins and smiling serenely into each other’s eyes, were Lupin and Jigen.

Jigen had one hand in Lupin’s and one wrapped around his waist, solid yet gentle where it brushed his dress. Without the easily recognizable hat he’d been forced to stuff into a pocket for the occasion, his eyes were clearly visible and shockingly honest in their adoring expression. Lupin, for his part, was pressed as close to Jigen as he was able, long brunette hair twisted luxuriously over a shoulder, grinning at the gunman like the sun. They looked every bit a couple in love.

Fujiko forgot how to breathe. The music, the lights, the french couple, Goemon. Everything faded except for that dance floor and its inhabitants. She felt her chest tighten and had a sudden feeling that she was observing something she shouldn’t be. She felt exposed, naked, like a child caught watching late-night television after she’d been told not to. Subconsciously, she heard Goemon whisper to her nervously in Japanese. Saw him bow to the couple politely when she didn’t respond and excuse himself in barely comprehensible French. Yet, it was only when he took her gently by the arm and led her to the back of the room that the spell was broken, though the painful knot in her chest remained.

Fujiko suddenly found herself looking into the concerned eyes of the man she was supposed to be helping tonight. Blushing slightly and caught off guard by his worried expression, Fujiko forced herself to smile. “Sorry about that,” she said quickly, trying to sound cheerful, though it came out closer to ‘tired.’ “I think the wine in this place is starting to get to me. Don’t worry. I should still be well enough for the job.”

Goemon just looked at her, face flashing from worry, to doubtful, to pained in an instant. Fujiko shifted uncomfortably as the samurai fought with himself in front of her, silently begging him to accept her excuse. Instead, to her dismay, he raised an arm slowly, awkwardly, and placed it lightly on her shoulder. At first, Fujiko had the terrifying notion that he was going to hug her. Instead, Goemon let his hand sit there, squeezing slightly, clearly not as comfortable as he’d like to be with the physical touch. “Fujiko,” he started, pausing for a second, before slowly continuing, uncertain. “I apologize if I come off as too forward, but as your friend, I must insist you tell me what is bothering you.” Then, to her utter horror, Fujiko began to cry.

She thought it hadn’t bothered her, the changes. The little touches that had become so obvious. Jigen’s silence. Lupin’s affections which suddenly seemed strained and put on for their own comfort. For a sense of normalcy. A show. And she had told herself she accepted it. That she was the mature one, the one who kept together and never let any relationship bother her. And yet, when she’d seen them dancing, every illusion she’d built for herself in the past several weeks had instantaneously and simultaneously shattered.

Lupin knew she didn’t love him the way he claimed to love her. Knew that she couldn’t, would never be able to. It just wasn’t in her nature. She had told him as much the first time she accepted his affections. That they would never be the same as the couples that surrounded them at that slightly cliché, smokey French café. Not on the inside. And Lupin had taken her hand, looked her in the eye, smiled so gently she felt as if he was reaching straight into her chest to hold her heart in his hand, and told her it was okay. He’d love her as much as he could in his own way. All she had to do was the same for him. And she did.

Fujiko wasn’t lying when she called Lupin her lover. She didn’t lie when she flirted with him. Her reception to his kisses, his touches, wasn’t faked. And yet, the way Jigen had looked at Lupin tonight—as if all the worlds in all the universe had stopped except for them. As if nothing else mattered but the man in front of him—Fujiko could never do that truthfully. No matter how much she wanted to.

And now, surrounded by fine dining and expensive clothes and with millions of dollars at stake if she couldn’t keep herself together, Fujiko broke down and cried. Because no matter how many times she told herself Lupin loved her despite what she couldn’t show him. No matter how many times she told herself he didn’t mind as long as she made room for him in her heart where she could, there was always an inkling in the back of her mind of what he could have with someone who could give what he gave in return. How much happier he might be if he simply left her for good. And that someone had been right next to Lupin, barely even left his side for years, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Fujiko felt wretched. Fake. A lying temptress done up in brand items and expensive makeup beginning to run as she cried. This is why, when she was suddenly pulled into an awkward hug, it startled her enough to stop. They stood there silently for a moment, embracing, Fujiko still sniffling slightly, before Goemon slowly unwrapped himself from her, holding her at arm's length and blushing at the floor, somehow the reddest of the two despite it being Fujiko who was sobbing just moments ago. “I beg your pardon,” The samurai attempted. “You seemed very distressed and I thought physical affection might…“ Somehow he seemed to be growing redder. “If I overstepped a boundary, then please accept my sincerest apologies.”

The samurai seemed so distraught by the situation that Fujiko couldn’t help but laugh, startling Goemon even more. She considered pulling him in for another hug but decided that maybe a bit too much for the shy samurai—if her breaking into tears hadn’t already brought them too much unwanted attention, Goemon dying of embarrassment certainly would—and instead took his arm and began to lead him quickly toward the bathroom. After all, a crying woman was as good an excuse as an ill businessman, and besides, the security guard took one look at the makeup running down her face and Goemon’s panicked blush and decided it may be more polite to look the other way.

Once inside, after checking to make sure the door was securely locked, Fujiko began to fix her makeup as Goemon made short work of his suit, relaxing back into his hakama with a sigh. She’d almost finished reapplying her lipstick when Fujiko noticed Goemon sneaking glances at her in the mirror. Fujiko was no stranger to receiving secretive looks from men, but his tense brow and undisguised frown told her these weren’t the normal guilty-pleasure peeks she was used to. “Lupin and Jigen sure looked nice,” she attempted, watching the samurai closely. “Yes.”

“They were dancing.”

“Yes.”

“Very close together.”

“Yes.” Goemon looked like he wanted to have any conversation other than this one.

“They sure looked happy.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you…?” Fujiko let the question trickle off. For a second too long, Goemon remained completely silent and Fujiko began to worry he hadn’t understood and she’d misjudged the situation completely. Then… “Five months.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I finished meditating a few minutes earlier than normal and entered to find them…” The samurai seemed unable to finish the sentence, but judging from the deep red blush that returned to his face, Fujiko could take a pretty good shot at the rest. “Ah,” she replied, unsure what else to say.

“Does it bother you?” Goemon asked.

“No!…Yes. I don’t know.” Fujiko sighed. “Lupin and I. We aren’t exclusive. He’s allowed to be with… I have no control over his actions and he doesn’t control mine. But tonight, when they were dancing. The way they looked at each other…“ The knot in Fujiko’s chest tightened again.

“You are afraid Lupin’s affections for Jigen may be stronger than his affections toward yourself.” Fujiko bit back the instinctive protest which rose up at the samurai’s response. He was correct, wasn’t he? Because deep down, below the femme-fatale that enjoyed the chase, never let any man or woman control her, and left a string of broken hearts behind her, Fujiko was just as scared as anyone else of being left behind. The knot in her chest was squeezing her heart so tightly she worried it would burst.

Goemon thought for a good moment before he spoke again. “It may not be my place to say, but I believe you deserve to know that your fears are most likely unwarranted.” Fujiko just looked blankly at him. When she didn’t reply, Goemon continued. “For the past few weeks, Lupin has not stopped speaking of his fears that you or Jigen will leave.”

“Ah,” Fujiko said again. Goemon nodded politely. “He has been quite distraught at the possibility that you will consider him unworthy of your own affections.” Fujiko suddenly felt a strong impulse to hug the samurai again. “In fact, I am quite certain he has prepared multiple strategies to convince you of his equal affections if you do decide to seek relations elsewhere.”

Now Fujiko did hug him, laughing softly at the startled squeak he let out when she kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, so silently she thought the samurai hadn’t heard until she felt him hum an embarrassed noise of acknowledgment against her shoulder. “Now then,“ she said, drawing back. “Let’s get that grating open, shall we? There're several million dollars behind it.”

After the slight hiccup in the bathroom, the heist went as smoothly as Lupin planned and they were racing away in the yellow convertible he had chosen for the occasion with ten million in the back before Zenigata even made it out the front door.

The four burst into the hideout just a few minutes before 1:00, carrying a bag of $2.5 million each, and still high on adrenaline. Lupin threw his bag against the wall, gestured for the others to do the same, and waltzed into the kitchen, brunette wig already thrown over the back of a chair, to mix a few more drinks for the night, badly singing the words to some loud and bawdy french song Fujiko didn’t recognize. Fujiko herself collapsed against the doorway to the hall leading back into the bedrooms, holding her heels in her hand. Goemon made himself comfortable in the corner, trying, with little success, to regain a sense of calm. And Jigen, still laughing heartily from the car ride, collapsed onto the couch, clutching his hat as he tried to quiet down enough to breathe.

Still singing carelessly, Lupin reentered with drinks and passed them out, ignoring Goemon’s protests against the western beverage in favor of taking Fujiko by the hand and spinning her across the room to the beat of his voice. Finally, they collapsed against the doorframe once more, giggling like children at their success. For the first time in weeks, taking a sip from her beverage, Fujiko felt content. “Where on earth did you learn that song?”

“What? That song? It was just something I picked up when I was younger.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “And wilder.”

“Somehow, I highly doubt there was ever a possibility you could’ve been ‘wilder’ in the past than you are now.” Fujiko heard Jigen snort in agreement from the couch and even thought she saw Goemon give a slight smile from his corner.

“Well,” Lupin continued, grinning in that way which always suggested he was done thinking, at least with his head. “Give me the next fifteen minutes or so, and maybe we’ll prove that.” And Fujiko thought about Lupin and how good it felt when he kissed her and how great he looked with long, brunette hair, and how beautiful he had been, happy, and dancing, and loved. And then she leaned in close, smiled suggestively, and told him “I’m sure we could, but wouldn’t it be such a shame for you to let that marvelous new suit I bought Jigen go to waste?”

Maybe later tonight, while she was lying alone in her bed, Fujiko would regret that decision just a little bit. But for now, the conspiratorial grin Lupin shot her and the shocked look and dark pink blush staring honestly out at her from under Jigen’s hat made every word worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> *pops into existence to give you aromantic Fujiko*
> 
> But in all seriousness, this is a headcanon I've held close to my heart for a while and I've finally made the decision to write it down. With few exceptions, I've never felt that she showed romantic interest in anyone that she wasn't planning to rob. She isn't romance-repulsed though.


End file.
